


Canine Caregiver

by Gaby



Series: Canine 'verse [3]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Crack, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3205793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaby/pseuds/Gaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal gets seriously sick. Good thing that Satchmo is around to save the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Canine Caregiver

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a Get Well pressie for the wonderful Kanarek13. I hope you’ll feel better soon! *hugs*  
> Beta by Elrhiarhodan Thank you, dear!

A romantic weekend in New England--the perfect present for Peter and Elizabeth, Neal thought, when he gave them the voucher for The Rusty Pelican--the inn they loved so much--as well as a list of interesting sights on the way, and a basket full of massage oil, lingerie and sex toys he was definitely interested in trying out as well.

“It’s your anniversary,” he argued. “We have our anniversary, the three of us, but you guys got together first, and I want you to really enjoy it.”

Peter was reluctant, but El understood why Neal insisted. “Thank you, sweetie. And I promise we’ll tell you all about our adventures with the sex toys.” She winked and flashed a naughty grin.

Neal grinned back. “That’s all I ask for. Well, that and pictures. Or a live feed via webcam.”

And so Peter and El left Thursday afternoon for a long weekend up north while Neal stayed behind.

At first they had figured Neal could stay in Brooklyn, take care of the house and Satchmo, but he had a painting that needed to be finished (and the skylights in his apartment were so much better for his artwork), June was hosting a fundraiser over the weekend and needed Neal’s help organizing it, and besides, Neal hated being in the house all by himself.

So he grabbed Satchmo and took the dog with him to Manhattan. Satchmo might not like all the stairs in June’s mansion, and he still thought that Bugsy was a weird little troll, but the prospect of going for a walk in Central Park definitely perked him up.

Thursday was pretty boring, but Friday turned out to be a blast. Mozzie dropped by and insisted on sharing some wine and wild conspiracy theories with Neal. Satchmo got comfortable on the couch (he was never allowed on furniture at home, so he made the most of the situation) and listened to the funny little man spurting nonsense. A couple of times, he even chuffed in amusement, but neither Neal nor Mozzie seemed to take notice.

After a couple of hours, Neal began to feel queasy. Satchmo thought he looked a little pale, but then again, he was colorblind, so that didn’t mean all that much.

“I don’t think that more wine is a good idea, Moz,” Neal muttered, holding his stomach.

“Nonsense. Drink up. It’s for medicinal reasons!” Mozzie raised his own glass. “Whatever ails you will pass after consumption of more grape juice.”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “Grape juice, Moz? Really?”

“Wine is made out of grapes, isn’t it?” Mozzie waved encouragingly at Neal. “Go on.”

“No, really. I’m not feeling well. Maybe we should call it a night.”

Mozzie looked slightly worried. “Are you all right?”

Neal shrugged. “Maybe just a stomach bug. I’m sure I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“You’d better. June is depending on us!” Mozzie got up and gathered his things, then thought about it and grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine as well. “You won’t be needing this anyway.”

Satchmo looked up when Mozzie walked over to say goodbye.

“Keep an eye on Neal,” Mozzie said. “I make you personally responsible for his well-being.”

“Moz,” Neal muttered in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“He’s a guard dog, isn’t he?”

“Not really, to be honest. And even if he was, what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, he...guards people. And their health.” Mozzie waved one hand around vaguely. “Just don’t get sick and infect me.”

Neal shook his head in mock despair. “I’ll do my best to keep you safe from harm.”

“Good.” Mozzie turned back to Satchmo and pointed a stern finger. “Your responsibility!”

Satchmo gave a friendly chuff and wagged his tail. He liked taking care of his people, after all.

*****

Satchmo sighed.

It was morning, the sun was already up, and that meant fresh water, breakfast kibble and a walk around the block--and not necessarily in that order.

The night had already been eventful enough, with Neal continuously moaning in pain, shuffling to the bathroom, taking pain pills as if they were candy and muttering about feeling like dying.

Satchmo wasn’t a young pup anymore. He needed his beauty sleep, especially when he wanted to impress the Dalmatian from down the block. But Neal’s restlessness had kept him up most of the night.

And now Neal was lying in his bed, sprawled on his back and out like a light.

This was not okay. It was completely unfair.

Satchmo chuffed softly and walked over to Neal’s bed. “Dude, rise and shine! Some of us have things to do and places to be!” He nosed the hand that was limply hanging over the edge of the bed.

Neal startled when the wet, cold nose poked his palm. He blinked his eyes open and moaned. “Oh god...”

“Name’s Satchmo, but you can call me Satch.” The dog sat down next to the bed. “Seriously, dude, lay off the alcohol. You look like crap.”

“Feel like it, too.” Neal forced himself to turn on his side. He started to heave.

Satchmo jumped back. “Dude, seriously? You’re not gonna start tossing cookies, are ya?”

Neal swallowed repeatedly in a desperate attempt to keep things down. “Already did that last night,” he finally managed to press out. “I think I’m dying.”

“Not before you feed me!” Satchmo protested.

Neal began to retch again at the mere thought of food.

Satchmo took another couple of steps back. “You’re not gonna hurl right here, are ya?” He looked around. There were no buckets or bowls around that could be used.

“Not if I can help it,” Neal managed to whisper. He was breathing through his open mouth and groaned in pain.

Satchmo carefully took a couple of steps closer again and gave Neal a careful sniff. “You smell funny.”

“Thanks,” Neal croaked sarcastically.

Satchmo cocked his head and regarded Neal. Something was definitely wrong. Satchmo reached out and tapped Neal’s nose with one front paw. “Dude! Your nose is totally hot and dry! That means you’re sick!”

Neal batted feebly at the paw. “I think I’m running a fever. Of course I’m hot.”

“That’s what she said,” Satchmo chortled. When Neal didn’t even manage to glower menacingly, Satchmo knew that something was definitely wrong. “Gonna go get some help,” he offered and, not waiting for Neal’s response, scampered off.

*****

The next time Neal opened his eyes, he stared into a pair of bright baby blues. “Elizabeth? Heeey...” He grinned goofily and raised one hand to stroke her cheek, though he missed her face completely. “What are you doing here?”

El smiled warmly, took Neal’s hand and kissed his palm. “Worrying about you. How are you feeling?”

Neal frowned in confusion. Why would El be worried about him? “I feel fiiine.” He waved one hand around, almost smacking El and himself in the process. “In fact... I feel good, I knew that I would,” he belted out in his best James Brown impersonation. Then he yelped in pain when his impromptu jig pulled muscles in his stomach. “Ow.” He frowned at his midsection.

Then he realized that he was covered with a white blanket, and not the duvet from home.

And then he realized something else. “This is a hospital room.”

“Yes, sweetie.”

Neal looked around with a frown. “Why am I in a-- Oh, Peter, hi!” He beamed at Peter, who was leaning against the far wall with a worried frown on his face.

“He’s completely stoned.”

“You know he’s always like this on pain meds.” El smiled indulgently at Neal and carded her fingers through Neal’s hair. “You really scared us.”

“What? Why?”

“What’s the last thing you remember, buddy?” Peter walked over and sat down on Neal’s hospital bed.

Neal frowned in concentration, though it was really difficult to remember. Besides, El was wearing a floral dress, and it was so pretty, and Neal had to fight the urge to count all the tiny little flowers. So, instead, he just reached out and poked each flower with a fingertip.

El looked amused but allowed Neal his innocent exploration.

Peter cleared his throat. “Neal?”

“Hmm?” Neal blinked up at Peter. “Oh, hey, Peter!”

“What’s the last thing you remember, buddy?”

“About what?” Neal blinked sleepily. “Why am I here? Why are you here?”

“Mozzie called us,” El said. “He was worried that he was interrupting our concupiscence, as he called it, but felt your situation warranted the call.”

“So we packed up and came back home,” Peter continued. He squeezed Neal’s hand.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” Neal remembered. “I thought it was the wine or maybe something I ate. I mean, I threw up a couple of times during the night, but...”

“You had an acute appendicitis, sweetie.”

“The surgeon actually said that the appendix ruptured a mere second after he had removed it. You got extremely lucky, Neal.”

Neal stared at Peter with wide eyes. “Wow.”

“Yeah. You can thank Satchmo. He went to get June and she called an ambulance.”

Neal nodded slowly. “I remember. He said I had a dry nose, so I had to be sick.”

Peter snorted at that. What a ridiculous thing to say. “Neal, he’s a dog. He can’t talk.” Peter remembered that one time when he had thought that his dog was talking, but he had been stoned to the gills at the time and therefore clearly hallucinating.

“But he was talking,” Neal insisted.

Peter and El shared a look. Maybe being delirious with fever made you hallucinate as well?

“Sure, sweetie,” El said, patting Neal’s hand reassuringly. Granted, she had claimed that Satchmo could speak, but that was back when she had found Peter and Neal high on her special brownies. She had yanked their chains back then. There was no way her dog could actually speak.

At that moment, the door to the hospital room opened and June poked her head in. “How is our patient?”

“Heeey, June!” Neal waved excitedly--and slightly uncoordinated--until the movement hurt his stomach.

“He’s high on pain killers. It’s actually kinda cute.” El smiled and pressed a quick kiss to Neal’s cheek. “I’ll go and see if I can’t find your doctor. Let’s try and get you home as soon as possible, okay?”

“Okay,” Neal said agreeably. He waved goodbye as he watched El leave.

Peter followed his wife but stopped at the door to quickly whisper to June, “He’s convinced Satchmo was talking. That’s how high he is.” Peter winked and then left the hospital room.

June smiled at Neal, who was pouting at Peter’s back. “Now, my darling boy, what was Peter talking about?” She sat down in the chair next to Neal’s bed and patted his hand.

“I know what I heard,” Neal muttered petulantly.

June looked both ways to make sure that nobody was listening in, then leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, “So do I.” She winked knowingly.

Neal’s eyes widened. Then he flashed a bright grin of triumph and fist bumped June.

THE END


End file.
